


Sand Like Gilded Gold

by Jenstar



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Time Travel, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenstar/pseuds/Jenstar
Summary: Sylvain Gautier knows he will die at the ripe age of thirty five. He’s never taken the time to research the official cause of death despite how much his curiosity burns for the knowledge, burns for the false truth that will be scribbled on his death certificate in a loopy script or perhaps even a rushed scrawl. It doesn’t really matterUntil February 20th, 1995 when he traveled to 2013 on a curious impulse and ran into Felix Fraldarius.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 87
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	Sand Like Gilded Gold

**Author's Note:**

> For Sylvix Week 2020 Day 1: Urban Fantasy

Sylvain Gautier knows he will die at the ripe age of thirty five. He’s never taken the time to research the official cause of death despite how much his curiosity burns for the knowledge, burns for the false truth that will be scribbled on his death certificate in a loopy script or perhaps even a rushed scrawl. It doesn’t really matter.

He knows the risks of his golden gift. Frankly, he was relieved to hear of this dark little side effect when Linhardt relayed the rules he never had the chance to hear prior, at least originally. He’d never met another Traveler until he spotted a man in rich verdant robes and even richer hair sprawled and asleep across a McDonald’s booth. 

Sylvain had plopped down in the seat across from the pile of green and winced at the torn faux leather scratching at his elbows. After several attempts at waking him, the man had slowly opened his eyes to reveal a gaze as matte as kyanite and as old as dragons. A few blinks and a yawn was all it took for him to assess Sylvain for what he was.

_You’re a Traveler._

Sylvain had bought him a happy meal and pestered him for answers. What’s your name? Where are you from? How did this gift manifest? What are the rules? 

_Linhardt; Adrestia from a few centuries ago; no one knows how it manifests and why; don’t change any major events, and you can travel as far and as frequently as you’d like, but it will shave years off your life each time; may I have another apple pie?_ All said with indifferent drowsiness laced with boredom. 

Sylvain indulged him with an extra apple pie and let him keep the Witchie McNugget toy as a souvenir. A part of him knew he would never see him again. 

His walk home was more a skip, the muscles in his body filled with a sort of giddy rejuvenation at the thought of poetic self-destruction—cutting his own time short by traveling through it. After all, what did he have to lose? A piss-poor excuse of a family? An inheritance forged through the insidious whims of his father? A lifetime full of choices already made for him?

So for the following two years, Sylvain had traveled back and forth with reckless, self-serving, self-mutilating abandon.

And he reveled in it, flourished it, bathed in the euphoria that came with shortening his lifespan on his own terms, traveling and disappearing until the marker signifying the end of his days drew closer and closer.

Until February 20th, 1995 when he traveled to 2013 on a curious impulse and ran into Felix Fraldarius. 

Sylvain scrambles out of bed on the morning of February 20th, 2002 after smacking his analog clock halfway across the room as it blared through the bliss and serenity of the early hours. 

He hurriedly gets dressed after hopping out of the shower and rummages through his dresser to find the neatly wrapped gift at the bottom. He throws on a bright windbreaker, takes a deep breath, and allows the excitement to seep deep into the marrow of his bones before closing his eyes and allowing those golden tendrils to envelop him and take him to 2020. 

The traveling is his favorite part. It’s fast and fleeting and a little frightening, but that feeling where the warm golden glow of his gift drapes over him like the comforting embrace of an old friend is the second best thing in his whole world. 

Sylvain finds himself in a familiar, dimly lit alley wedged between two towering brownstones. He jogs through the opening into the wide expanse of Garreg Mach University’s central courtyard framed by manicured fauna that looks strikingly out of place against the frigid cold. His attention immediately darts to the fountain at the center where a sharp, lithe figure recognizes him and begins to jog towards him. Sylvain follows suit, a dimpled smile carving its way through his face as he watches that blur of midnight close the distance—a crow feather cutting through the resistance of the wind. 

Felix practically jumps into Sylvain’s arms, wrapping his own around Sylvain’s neck and finding shelter in the crook. Sylvain shudders when Felix’s breath warms his skin and he huffs out a little laugh as Felix pulls away and his cheeks flush as red as ripe cherries. 

“Whoa, someone’s excited to see me.”

“Shut up,” Felix mumbles. He crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, but Sylvain disarms him by tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Felix drops his arms and looks away, the flush on his face deepening as he whispers, “Of course I’m excited to see you.”

Sylvain cradles Felix’s face with one hand, a thumb ghosting over the peaks of his cheeks. Sylvain thinks they’re sharp and lethal, like the pointed edge of a dagger, dulled only by the warmth trickling towards Felix’s ears, leaving a trail of bashful pink in its wake. Felix narrows his eyes, melted marmalade only growing softer under the glow of the sun and the fondness of Sylvain. 

“Come here,” Sylvain says as he leans forward and closes the gap. Kissing Felix feels like time traveling for the first time every time, enveloping Sylvain in a warm, golden embrace with the promise of something new on the other side. Sylvain wishes he could spend the rest of his years like this, with his hands hovering over whetted steel, the concept of metal sinking into his flesh nothing more than an empty threat cushioned by the way Felix thaws under his touch. 

Sylvain pulls away when he feels Felix laugh against his lips. 

“What’s so funny, Fe?”

Felix gently tugs at the hem of Sylvain’s shirt. “I just realized you’re wearing a fucking Creed shirt.”

Sylvain can’t contain the boisterous laugh that rivals the loud splash of the fountain. “You know I only save the best for you. Which by the way,” he presents his gift and Felix takes it with a half-smile, “happy birthday.”

Felix rips off the wrapping paper with the vigor of a ravenous five year old and Sylvain tries his best to suppress his snort. Felix holds up the shirt and raises a brow. “Pearl Jam?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain shrugs. “I remembered you humming the tune to Even Flow last time we saw each other.”

Felix pauses as he carefully tucks his gift into his backpack. “You remembered that even though it was a year ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, better than The Smashing Pumpkins one you got me last year.” Felix slings his backpack over his shoulder and plants an affectionate kiss on Sylvain’s cheek.

“Hey! I thought it’d be cute to have matching shirts. Doesn’t it bring back fond memories of when we first met?”

“When you ran into me so hard I fell into the fountain?”

“It was an accident! Besides, you’re the one who used the shirt I was wearing as a conversation starter.”

“Whatever,” Felix mutters without a trace of acidity. Sylvain takes his hand and presses his lips to the back of it, taking the time to pepper one kiss on each knuckle before lacing their fingers together and tugging Felix along. 

“Come on, where do you wanna go?”

“Coffee.”

“Good plan, it’s still pretty early.”

The coffee shop is only a few blocks away from the university, and soon Sylvain and Felix find themselves nestled in a back corner table, vines of ivy tickling the top of Sylvain’s head as the plant above them sways with every open and close of the door while an overgrown fern caresses Felix’s shoulder as it drapes over a shelf. Sylvain thinks the viridescent touches of nature contrast nicely against the grainy wood of the cafe.

Sylvain watches Felix trace the rim of his coffee cup with a stiff finger, noting the apprehension with every cycle around the mug. 

“Twenty five, huh? I remember when I was twenty five,” he teases to ease the tension.

Felix scoffs. “Get over yourself. You’re only a little over two years older than me.”

“If we’re getting technical, then I’m at least twenty years older than you.” Felix falters at that, his brows furrowing into something pained before he buffers his expression by taking a long sip of his coffee. Sylvain almost asks him if he’s alright, but a server arrives with his cinnamon roll and refills their coffees.

“I really like your windbreaker,” the server says while fiddling with a lock of lilac, “where did you get it?”

“Oh, thank you. And it was just one of those rad thrift store finds.”

“Well, lucky you. It looks good on you.” 

Felix exhales a harsh breath and Sylvain rubs a hand behind his neck as Felix levels him with a glare. Sylvain has to give props to the server, though. He doesn’t blink twice at Felix, just narrows his own lavender gaze and offers him a smirk before he says, “Relax, firecracker. I’m really just interested in the saturated windbreaker. I have my own bundle of silver in the back making pastries, and his freckles are much cuter.”

The server tells them it’s all on the house before shooting Felix a playful wink, who practically bolts out the door and almost trips over a pile of days old slush. Sylvain catches up to him and hums a small chuckle at the flush of color on Felix’s face, a rosy mixture of embarrassment and the cold. He wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close, savoring the way Felix simply melts into his hold like the first fall of snow touching base with the earth. He presses a kiss to his temple.

“So, what else do you wanna do, birthday boy? I’ve got all day.” 

Felix looks up at him and Sylvain can’t quite place his expression. His brows are unfurrowed this time, but there’s an unease framing his pupils in a sea of worried goldenrod. Sylvain has disregarded the passage of time for quite a while now, but he swears he can feel it freeze as he watches their breaths mingle in the frosted air like white, wispy ghosts. He doesn’t know what to do, so he kisses him again, this time on his cheek, and Felix visibly relaxes. 

Felix wraps an arm around Sylvain’s waist before answering, “I sort of just want to walk around the city with you, if that’s alright.”

Sylvain smiles. “Totally.”

They wander through the streets of Garreg Mach like they always do when Sylvain visits, with twined fingers that eventually morph into desperate clutching, a result of something that lies beyond the bitter frost hovering over the city. 

It’s so easy to fall into step with Felix, to place a palm on the small of his back when they pass through the threshold of a door, to absentmindedly reach for his hand, to accept the softness Felix sometimes allows to radiate from the small half-smile he reserves for Sylvain. 

He wishes it wasn’t so easy.

Sylvain asks a lot of questions as they traverse through the day, and Felix patiently indulges him, humors him as he stares wide-eyed at the touch screen at the burger joint they’ve decided to stop by for dinner. 

“I can’t believe you just, like, touch the screen to order,” Sylvain says while he adds burger topping after burger topping just because he can. 

“Sylvain, you’re smart. Stop acting like an idiot.”

“Aw babe, let a guy have some fun.”

“Not when all of those toppings will probably land you in the nearest bookstore bathroom.” They both laugh, and it’s immature and silly and absolutely _wonderful_. They talk about everything and nothing and it’s all so simple, comfortable, terrifying. Felix talks about his friend Annette and how the only reason he knows his head from his ass in his master’s program is because of her songs about complex chemical reactions. Sylvain mentions Mercedes and Dedue, the charming couple that helps him run the bar he tends. 

Sylvain reaches out with his thumb and wipes the ketchup hanging onto the corner of Felix’s mouth.

“What am I, a child?”

“Nah, just messy.” Felix bristles a bit but it’s all for show and he gives in when Sylvain tilts his chin up for a chaste kiss. 

And it’s just that easy.

They find an arcade bar called _Glitch_ tucked away in a corner and shamelessly flirt at the counter with hands hovering over thighs and the taste of whiskey and gin mingling on the press of plush lips. Sylvain leans in to whisper more honeyed words, but Felix hops off the barstool and leads him towards a rhythm game.

“You’re lucky we don’t have games like these in the early two thousands,” Sylvain says as his screen declares him the loser for the seventh time in a row. He isn’t sure if Felix actually flinches, it’s hard to tell under the dim lighting of the arcade and the haziness of gin. 

“Even if you did, I’d still kick your ass.”

“As if! Let’s even out the playing field, yeah?”

They stumble over to a Street Fighter 2 machine where Sylvain wins three rounds in three minutes and he revels in the frustrated flush that blooms across Felix’s skin.

“You got lucky.”

“Yeah, you wish. I remember when these bad boys hit the streets.” 

Felix pauses before looking up at Sylvain, wearing an expression he’s only seen a few times, but Sylvain knows the conversation it’s foreshadowing and he’s already dreading it. Felix gently cups his face and pulls him down until their foreheads touch. Sylvain feels dizzy from the contact, from the flickering neon lights and the added weight of gin. He closes his eyes to center himself, and when he opens them back up, Felix is smiling and it aches.

“Can we go back to my place?” Felix asks.

“Okay.”

Sylvain’s hands slide underneath Felix’s shirt, calloused skin dancing along the toned edges of Felix’s back, who grinds into Sylvain’s lap as he threads his fingers through a field of vermillion. The crinkling of the leather couch is eclipsed by muffled moans exchanged through a tangle of tongues, each kiss lasting longer and longer until the exposed skin of Felix’s neck becomes too tantalizing and Sylvain begins to suck a bruise just above his collarbone. The resulting gasp elicits a shiver out of Sylvain, and suddenly he feels like he’s sinking deep into the hidden crevices of time, where there’s no fixed point in sight and everything starts and ends with Felix in a hazy, golden glow. 

“I could stay like this forever,” Sylvain breathes into Felix’s skin. He says it with tender reverence, as if he’s desperately trying to hold on to a handful of sand before it all slips through the gaps of his fingers. “I could stay with you forever.”

Felix stiffens momentarily and tries to recover with a languid kiss, but Sylvain knows better and gingerly pulls away. He stares at those kiss-swollen lips, those half-lidded eyes and fights the urge to sink into Felix again. 

“What’s wrong, Fe?”

“Nothing.”

Sylvain cups his face and runs a thumb across his skin, that sharp cheekbone sturdy and strong and familiar. “Felix.”

Felix briefly looks away before meeting Sylvain’s gaze again. 

“You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re already twenty seven,” he says and his hands drop to Sylvain’s shoulders. Sylvain isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond, especially when Felix is looking at him like that, like if he doesn’t hold a vice grip on his shoulders Sylvain will fade into dust, like his grasp will somehow make Sylvain belong in this moment that’s already more fragile than freshly blown glass. 

“Yeah, I am,” is what he settles on.

“This can be the last time, if you want,” Felix whispers. Sylvain is almost surprised Felix isn’t arguing, he argues every time, has argued for seven years. But then he notes the crease in those brows and figures Felix is just tired. 

“It won’t be, though. I don’t want that.” Felix’s hands fall to his lap. Sylvain doesn’t remove his own from Felix’s face. 

“You could live a longer life if you stopped seeing me.” And it’s true, technically. But if Sylvain had never met Felix, never ran into those barbed edges and collapsed into the frigid fountain, he’d already be six feet in the ground. He would have continued down the self-destructive path he was already sprinting on, flitting through time until it ripped at his seams in all its golden glory. 

“I already told you, remember? I’m still here because of you. I only travel to see you.” Sylvain leans forward and kisses Felix’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin until he’s hovering right over his lips.

“You could stop altogether.” Felix’s breath still smells like whiskey, and Sylvain thinks the burn is delicious. 

“Never,” and he takes the plunge, diving into the cushion of those lips, pink, plush, and perfect. 

Sylvain wakes up draped in the moonglow filtering in through the blinds. Something is tickling his nose, and when he realizes it’s a strand of Felix’s hair, he turns over to just look at him. Felix is sleeping on his side facing Sylvain, the rest of his hair spilling over his pillow like inky black rivers, trails of obsidian whirling endlessly to nowhere. Sylvain counts the long lashes resting on his pale skin, and he can’t resist the urge to smile at the soft breaths escaping through slightly parted lips. 

Sylvain wants to laugh. Felix is wearing an old Radiohead shirt, and seeing him so relaxed and open is a far cry from when they first met, when Sylvain had accidentally traveled too close to Felix while he was walking past the fountain, resulting in a loud splash and a furious Felix glaring at him with murder in his eyes. Sylvain had apologized profusely and extended a hand, but Felix slapped it away and muttered something about accepting help from an asshole in a Smashing Pumpkins shirt. It took several tries, but Felix eventually took him up on his offer to buy him whatever clothes they could find at the university bookstore, it was freezing after all, and Sylvain had plenty of two dollar bills in his pocket. Somehow Sylvain had managed to convince Felix to allow him to spoil him further with a cup of coffee and a hot lunch. 

And it was so easy for everything to fall into place, for their conversations to crest and crash like salty ocean waves, ebbing and flowing from mentions of dead brothers, misguided expectations, and sour resentment. That afternoon was filled with many firsts for Sylvain; the first time he felt his heart rattle against his ribs at the sonorous sound of a rare laugh, the first time he felt frozen in place from a kiss, the first time he thought _I would give it all up just for you._

Felix stirs a bit before opening his eyes, and the amber cuts right through the moonlight, right through Sylvain’s heart. He blinks a few times before registering Sylvain is also awake, and the amber melts into pure affection underscored by the rawness of sleep. It’s the same look Felix gave him when Sylvain had to go back the first time.

_Will I see you again?_

_Yeah, I’ll come back every year for your birthday._

_Is that a promise?_

_Totally._

“Sylvain,” Felix says as he inches a little closer. “Everything okay?”

Sylvain nods before reaching out and pulling Felix flush against skin. Felix wraps his arms around him and buries his face into his chest. “Yeah.”

Sylvain Gautier will die at the ripe age of thirty five, but he’s made his peace with it so it doesn’t really matter. Nothing really matters, he’s realized; not his past transgressors, not the grim reality of his future, not even time—not when he has his own bundle of midnight outweighing the price of gold cradled in his arms, the absolute best thing in his world.

**Author's Note:**

> Tysm for reading!
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenstarlol).


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